


mood changes like the wind

by spock



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: Character Bleed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Service Top, Sexual Roleplay, Under-negotiated Kink, Yuleporn, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: It reminds Tobias of his improv days, such as they were. He’d loved picking someone out in the audience as his focus, doing his best to figure out their particular brand of humour in real time, tailoring the act to them. Tobias has always been prone to catering to men like Sam, gorgeous things that were quick to smile, hoping that he might make such an impression that they would come up to him afterward for a chat.





	mood changes like the wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dafna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafna/gifts).



The knock, when it comes, is expected. Tobias feels a sudden need to remind himself of this. It had been his very own idea, even, although Sam had seemed relieved when Tobias had beaten him in offering to host as if he’d been of a mind to extend a similar proposal. He’s ventured over to Sam’s, once or twice over the months spent filming, and didn’t think it fair to force the lad to go to all the effort it would take to tidy it up for company’s sake.

Opening the door, he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. “Morning,” he greets, and hopes that it seems appropriately informal, given the circumstances. It certainly is that after all, light streaming into all corners of the house from the windows. It feels almost obscene, rehearsing in unequivocally opposite conditions to that which the scene itself is set.

“Hiya.” The smile Sam gives him makes it clear that he finds the entire situation particularly hilarious.

Tobias hovers near the door even after he’s shut it behind them, back leant against it. “The kettle’s just gone, if you’d like something to settle in with,” he says. “Otherwise I rather thought we’d just get right to it?”

“Water, maybe?” Sam asks. Tobias nods and takes care to place his hand in the small of Sam’s back as he sidesteps him in the narrow space of hallway, figuring that casual touches could only help what would come next. He hates that he’s being awkward. They’ve always gotten along fine, are perhaps even mates, Tobias' mild infatuation with him notwithstanding.

He can hear Sam’s footsteps following into the kitchen, though the he settles himself at the dining bench while Tobias grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it from a pitcher in the refrigerator.

“I still can’t believe how posh this flat is,” Sam comments, leaning a ways back in his chair to peek into the living room.

“It came furnished,” Tobias says, “paid for by the studio and all. I’m fairly certain yours was as nice, once upon a time.”

Sam makes a face at him, saying, “Alright now, settle down. Having a go won’t get you anywhere.”

“Won’t it?” Tobias sets the glass in front of Sam and walks the short distance into the living room, picking his copy of the script up from the table, already bent and marked up to hell. When he returns to the kitchen he finds that Sam’s pulled his from the backpack he’d brought with him, currently zipping it up and placing it under the chair by his feet.

His feet, which are only in their socks, shoes tucked off to the side.

“Don’t suppose you’ve brought the kilt with you?” His voice is calm as he asks it, but he isn’t quite sure what it is that he’ll do if Sam actually says he has.

Sam makes to grab his bag again, mouth open, but it turns into a grin and he drops his hands into his lap. “Believe it or not,” he says, “but it isn’t actually a requirement to carry one on your person at all times to remain in the country.”

Tobias does his best to look especially English, in that moment, playing up his annunciation. “Well that certainly isn’t what they said on the brochure.”

It isn’t all that funny, but Sam laughs his head off anyway, causing Tobias’ heart to go racing, just a bit. It reminds him of his improv days, such as they were. He’d loved picking someone out in the audience as his focus, doing his best to figure out their particular brand of humour in real time, tailoring the act to them. Tobias has always been prone to catering to men like Sam, gorgeous things that were quick to smile, hoping that he might make such an impression that they would come up to him afterward for a chat.

He tries not to break, but Sam’s laugh really is too much. A sound manages to hiccup out of Tobias’ throat. He brings the back of his fingers to his mouth, covering the smile that’s also managed to escape him, chuckling despite himself. Right as he does, Sam stops laughing, smug satisfaction settling across his face, a look that suits him too well by far, given that he’s a scheming little bastard, playing Tobias so well that he hadn’t even noticed it.

“Oh, alright,” Tobias complains, and hates that he’s more charmed than he is annoyed, even as his laughter dies off as well. “Piss off, you. Collect your bloody BAFTA and let's get on with it, then, since you’re so clever.”

Sam rises from his seat, bowing, and then starts to undo his belt.

Tobias watches him do it, and then realizes that it’s likely unnerving, if not predatory. He makes a show out of flipping through the pages of the script until he gets to the start of the assault. “I thought we’d just start at the kiss,” he says, “and play it by ear to see what needs the most practicing? We can block out specific things, and then move on to the cot.”

Trousers draped over the back of the chair, Sam pulls off his jumper and places it over there as well, leaving him in nothing but a slightly oversized vest and his pants. “That’s fine by me,” he says. He retakes his seat and places a hand onto the table, palm up. Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply for a minute, in and out. The next breath comes quicker, and the one after that quicker still.

Tobias stands and clenches his hands into fists a few times, licking his lips. He stares at Sam. He can’t close his eyes, not for this. Not when he’s finally got the man where he’s wanted him all these years, so much of him on display. For all that he’d fantasized about it, over the years. There’s a sweet satisfaction curling up in the pit of his stomach, knowing that the other was there willingly, though not so much acquiescing as — unprotesting.

He keeps his eyes open, focused, and sees Jamie.

When he taps his finger, firm, but not unkind, into the center of Sam’s palm, he isn’t sure if it’s him, or Jack, doing it. Jamie flinches, as if it had been pierced by the nail the script outlines it to be. A shuddering exhale escapes Jamie, and nothing else. A little pain won’t break him. Not this sort, at any rate. He’s Jamie then, from this moment, Sam long forgotten.

It’s not the same as it will be, in the dark of the cave, with another sniveling and whimpering at Jamie’s knee, expressing all the things Jamie cannot, will not. But it’s more than enough, to delve into the psychology of it, the emotion, to learn one another’s bodies in an intimacy that such frivolous things like consent even fail to allow.

This — this is about ownership, and submission. Taking.

“Shall we begin, then?” he asks, though it’s not Tobias who speaks, but Jack, and it’s hardly a question.

Jamie opens his eyes and there’s little more than hatred in them.

Jack walks up to him and it only takes the one hand to encompass the front of Jamie’s throat, the meat of his palm resting firm against the place where Jamie’s clavicle split for his sternum, a soft, fragile divot. His index finger lands so perfectly at Jamie’s chin, and it is easy to exert pressure there, tilting his face up.

Mouth open, gaze up at the ceiling, it was clear to Jack that Jamie thought of no other but him in that moment. Not his wife, not his country, not even himself. He was owned by Jack right then, mind full of nothing but Jack, and his feelings for him. It hardly mattered that those feelings were what they are; just that he felt something at all, and that it consumed him entirely.

“Now,” Jack says, “kiss me.”

Though he knows it to be a lie, Jack feels as if he could be sated with this and nothing else. Jamie’s mouth is soft, and wet, and _his_. He does not kiss Jack back, and Jack almost prefers it this way. He licks once, almost cruelly — though if its purpose is to incite such within Jamie or himself, Jack does not know — into Jamie’s mouth, dipping in just for a moment before he pulls back, allowing the kiss to linger before he retreats further still, his face hovering above Jamie’s, an almost tender sound emerging from the parting of their lips.

He looks to Jamie’s eyes again. The hatred is still there, though it’s clouded over with something new. Jack wonders perhaps if Jamie has surrendered himself so completely, so soon, or if this is last line of defence, hiding from Jack.

Jamie blinks, as if coming back even to himself, and Jack realizes what new thing he’s seen in Jamie’s eyes, perhaps for the first time in all their time of knowing one another; it’s fear. It occurs within the space of a second, perhaps two, but Jack catches it.

In a whisper, as if afraid to break a spell, but unable to stay silent, Tobias asks, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t stop.” He isn’t able to tell if it’s Jamie or Sam who says it.

Tightening his hold on Jamie’s throat, Jack does as he is compelled, kissing him a second time.

* * *

They go over the kiss until their mouths are bruised by it, Tobias changing his hold on Jamie’s throat, his jaw, until it’s rubbed raw and red from Tobias’ hands. Jack’s hands.

Tobias’ face is similarly pink; he’d shaved that morning, but Sam hasn’t, Jamie’s usual stubble adorning his cheeks. It’s rough and soft both against Tobias’ face as he kisses him over and over again, trying to figure out how best to convey the awfulness of it.

The last few resets have seen him running almost tender fingers through Jamie’s hair, the soft skin at the nape of his neck, before taking Jamie’s chin and tipping the whole architecture of his mouth to a degree that allows Jack the most access, uncaring of the agony it must cause Jamie.

“We will remember this moment for the rest of our lives,” he says, and has said it at least fifteen times now. Each reading is different, but none of them feel any less true. He has said it cruelly, and kind. This time it feels almost matter of fact, a realization he’s just come to. It feels real — this is it, the manifestation of all that he has hoped for, since the first time they’d locked eyes. Now, just as then, they can never go back from this. There will only be _after_ , and Jack is so happy to be rid of the _before_.

This, at last, feels right. To Jack, it is the first and only time he’s said it. For Tobias, it means that he can finally move on with the script.

He drops to his knees at Jamie’s side, using almost gentle hands to pull first one sock from Jamie’s foot, and then the other. Jack can’t help himself from stroking a knuckle at the thickest part of Jamie’s calf. The hair of his legs is soft, downy; Jack is of half a mind to pinch it between his fingers and tug, but there will be time for that, later. Jamie’s being so good, after all.

His touch sends a visible shiver racing up through Jamie’s body, causing him to sit up straight in his chair. It hits Jack then, that this is really happening. He begins to thicken in his britches, the need to hurry this right along coursing through him just as sure as his touch had sent Jamie trembling. He raises a hand to the table to help himself stand, and in an instant, one of Jamie’s comes to cover it. Standing, Jack sees that it is Jamie’s free one; the other is still upturned and rooted in place, as Jack had left it. The one he has overtop Jack’s is almost feverishly warm.

“She’s away safe?” Jamie asks. It should anger Jack, but he can see how hard it was for Jamie to bring himself to say it. And not due to how low he has fallen to ask such a thing, but rather that he had to bring such thoughts back to his mind purposefully, that wife of his so far gone from his mind now, she might not even exist at all.

Sam, of course, has no wife. Quite fortuitous, that.

“Yes,” Jack says. “You have my word.” He places his hand on top of Jamie’s, a chaste caress. Then he remembers that he needs not to be chaste at all, and takes his hand to Jamie’s cheek, his mouth, running his fingertips around the line of his lips.

Jack walks behind Jamie, keeping a hand on him as he goes, dragging up his forearm to his bicep, along his shoulder, until he’s stood behind Jamie’s chair, fingers toying with his hair.

The neck of Sam’s vest is loose on top of being oversized, and with his body sculpted as it is, it’s easy for the fabric to leave gaps, exposing smooth skin to Jack’s gaze. He’s angry that the scars aren’t there, his mark forever tattooed with something stronger than even ink on Jamie’s skin, forever blemished in ways that only Jack could find beautiful. Proof that he is as Jack’s made him.

He isn’t any less Jack’s for not having them, though. Jack closes his eyes, for a moment, as he strokes his fingers past the collar, teasing the warm skin of Jamie’s back. He can feel the scars, this way, and knows that Jamie must too. Jack lowers his head and bites hard at the meat of Jamie’s shoulder, marking him as he should be.

Jamie sits up impossibly straighter, ramrod in his seat. He is silent, and it makes Jack feel as if his own breathing is impossibly loud, the sudden weight of it existing in the otherwise soundless vacuum of the room.

“It’s a masterpiece,” his lips catch on Jamie’s skin as he speaks. Need overtakes him, and he rips Sam’s vest in two without really thinking, leaning back in, biting along the breadth of Jamie’s shoulders, the concavernous curve of his spine, as low down as he can get before the top rail on the chair prevents him from journeying further. “How does it feel,” he asks, speaking directly into the expanse of skin that belongs far more to him that than it does Jamie, half expecting it to reply back to him, “to be alive?”

Jack tells himself that he isn’t his imagination, that Jamie is pressing back against his mouth intentionally, purposefully, as if seeking out his touch, begging for it. It drives him a bit wild, and he loses himself, nipping and sucking against the skin in a frenzy, lashing Jamie’s back with kisses just as he had done with his whip, all that time ago.

He doesn’t mind his footing and trips over himself a ways, managing to catch himself with a hand on the floor before he collapses too badly. It grants him a view of the side of Jamie’s face for the first time in a while. Of the tears there, cresting from the corners of his eyes and dripping down his cheeks.

Tobias reacts, sitting up on his knees, unthinking, taking his tongue to Jamie’s face and licking them up. He’s got a hand on Jamie’s jaw to balance himself, which sees his palm covering Jamie’s mouth, and it’s a shock to him, and Jack as well when Jamie’s mouth opens, gasping in wet, shuddering breaths against their skin. Jamie licks against his palm, and it’s almost as wanton as it is helpless.

“We can stop,” Tobias says, pressing his words against the curve of Sam’s jaw; it’s half Jack speaking as well, almost teasing, though, from him, cruel.

Jamie shoves him away with such force that he topples himself to the floor fully, parallel to where Tobias is still kneeling. He stares with wild eyes, though the tears have stopped, and doesn’t move. Tobias isn’t sure if he should go to help him, or if it would only cause more of whatever harm he’s already managed to inflict.

One shoulder of his vest has slipped down, catching in the curve of Jamie’s elbow where he’s got it bent to support him. The other succumbs to gravity and slips down his shoulder, a mirror of its twin. It leaves his chest exposed. It’s absurd; Tobias focuses on just how hard his nipples are, visible even with the meter or so between them.

Sam’s voice trembles when he speaks, as if he’s holding back sobs. “I—,” he works visibly to clear his throat, trying a second time, “I gave my word,” he licks his lips, “and I intend to honor it.”

His thighs widen as he gets his hands back under him, struggling to sit on the floor properly. It allows Tobias to see between his legs, the way his cock is straining against the fabric of his pants, a thick curve. He seems to notice the exact moment Tobias sees him, _truly_ sees; his elbows give out on him and he falls to the ground on his side, bringing his knees up to hide himself from view.

Tobias isn’t sure what to do. Jack, however, has something of an idea.

He crawls the short distance until he’s at Sam’s side, cupping the thick muscle of his chest and maneuvering Sam’s body as if it were his due, as if it were Jamie’s, until his back is to Jack’s front, Jamie’s head resting at the curve of Jack’s shoulder, his temple to Jack’s jaw. The grip Jack has on him has left Sam’s nipple peeking out between Jack’s index and middle fingers. He shifts them closer together, pinching it with his knuckles, and even Sam’s body, curved in on itself as it may be, can’t hide the way his dick twitches, shifting obviously in his lap, even inside his underwear.

“It’s alright,” he says, and means it to be him, but it’s Jack speaking in the end. He repeats it, and Sam turns more to look at him, no longer facing forwards, as if beckoned by a siren’s call.

“Ask me for it,” Jack teases. Sam’s eyes track him as he speaks, eyes focused on nothing beyond Jack’s lips. “And I’ll give it to you.”

“I won’t,” Jamie says. Tobias has never heard him like this before, so beaten down and broken, not a single mark on him, not a single punishment inflicted on him, beyond that of Jack’s affection.

“I can’t,” Sam says, this time.

“Dear God,” Jack breathes it, something dawning on him all at once, utter revelation, “you are a magnificent creature.” Something shifts behind Sam’s eyes, and Tobias can’t stand it.

He kisses Sam, licking deep into his mouth, wanting to devour him, needing this connection more than anything else in that moment, in his entire life. Tobias belongs to him, would do anything for him. Sam’s hands come up, wrapping around his shoulders, their faces so close that his nose mashes awkwardly against Tobias’ cheek, their lips stretched thin as the kiss grows, both of them trying to devour one another.

Jack jerks his head back, breaking the connection. Eyes closed, Sam stretches his neck to chase after him. It makes him laugh, a barbarous and sharp thing. “Ah,” Jack says, “So that’s your plan. Which am I supposed to believe you to be, hm? Jamie, or yourself?”

Sam’s eyes open again; tears in them. Tobias glances down to his lap, sees the wet spot starting to develop right where the head of Sam’s cock is straining near the elastic waist of his pants.

“Submitting like Christ on the cross, and sacrificing yourself just as gleefully.” Jack leans in again, placing his lips to Sam’s forehead. From the corner of his eye, Tobias can see the absolution with which Sam lets his eyes flutter shut, tears escaping them almost as if in release. “And who is it that you’re hoping to have cast you down, hm? Me, or him?”

The breath hitches in Sam’s lungs. He presses back harder against Tobias’ chest, and it pushes his own more firmly into Tobias’ palm. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

He drags the hand at Jamie’s chest down, over the hard planes of his stomach. He hooks his thumb into the elastic waist and drags that down, too, until it they’re stretched and caught around the top of Sam’s thighs.

Sam’s choking down air more than he’s breathing it, each inhalation sounding almost painful with how hard he’s trying to suck them in, the exhales a stuttering series that has his abdominals jumping.

“Judas always did love Jesus best, you know,” Jack’s saying. He’s got an almost clinical detachment, especially compared to how overwhelmed Tobias feels, staring down the gorgeous slope of Sam’s body from over his shoulder. “Sacrificed his very soul, just so Jesus could have what he wanted, in the end. He’s a bit like that, I think.”

Tobias takes Sam into his hand, squeezing too-tight at first, because he can’t believe it’s real. Sam hisses his thighs tensing, but his legs stay firm, never in risk of closing. “How does that feel?” Jack asks. Sam lets out a whimper, confused, maybe — overstimulated, likely, being worked over by two men at once, both of them wearing the same face. Tobias shushes him, gentle.

“I’m here,” he promises, and works his hand harder, a steady piston. He finally lifts the other from where it had been anchored behind him on the floor brings it up around the other side of Sam’s middle, cradling him between his arms. “It’s me,” he says, “I’m here.”

His hand is a bit too much, Tobias can feel it in the tension of Sam’s body. He presses forward, forces Sam to fold in on himself a little so that he can get his head aimed over his hand, letting spit dribble down from his mouth into his palm, down onto Jamie’s cock.

“Is it nice?” Jack says, and it feels as much as a taunt to him as it is for Sam. “I just want this to be a pleasant experience for the both of us.”

Tears spring from Sam’s eyes in earnest now, and his cock grows even harder in Tobias’ palm, twitching against his hand. Tobias can hardly stand it, how badly he feels the need to make this perfect for Sam.

What exactly that entails, and how it’s starting to dawn on him just what he needs to do to accomplish that.

He shifts out from behind Sam, and without Tobias there to keep him propped up, watches as Sam falls flat onto his back, stunned. Crawling over him, Tobias twits until he’s crouched on his knees between Sam’s legs, pinning them to the floor by placing a hand on the pants still trapped at his thighs, head facing Sam’s lap, his dick level with Tobias’ face, which he wastes no time in taking into his mouth.

Sam’s arms go wild, fingernails running listlessly across the smooth wood of the floor, fingertips catching against it, trying to find something to hold on to, to ground him. Tobias shifts back, savouring the feel of Sam’s cock as it pulls back from his throat, the ridge catching against Tobias’ bottom lip when he releases it back into the air, moving down to mouth at the base, licking at Sam’s balls. He uses his hand to massage the length of it again, not really moving it so much as alternating his grip, squeezing, slowly working upwards so that his thumb can dip inside Sam’s foreskin to rub right against the sensitive head.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jack says, voice not entirely unkind, “tell me to stop, and I will. Right now, say it.”

Sam writhes at his shoulders. His thighs tighten, spasming. “Do what you must,” and it’s nearly Jamie who says it.

Tobias opens his mouth and runs his lips along the shaft of Sam’s dick, squeezing his balls with his hands. “That wasn’t a no,” Tobias says.

Sam convulses, body curving in on himself, stomach muscles straining as he lifts bodily from the floor, his hands finally, _finally_ coming to touch Tobias’ head reverentially as he comes, a full-bodied thing. Tobias lets some of it streak across his face before he moves decidedly towards the head, taking it into his mouth and swallowing the rest down, working Sam through it with both of his hands, hard strokes meant to get every last drop out of him.

Tobias is near throbbing himself, feels as if he might come if Sam just looked at him right. He presses his face into Sam’s thigh, and Jack bites into the corded muscle. Sam twitches, hard, and then laughs, breathless. His hands pet Tobias’ hair, his cheeks, reaching down to grab the shirt at Tobias’ shoulders, which makes him still, and then laugh harder.

“You haven’t even got your fuckin’ top off,” he brings a hand up, casting his arm across his face, bicep hiding him from view when Tobias’ turns to look up the topography of his body at him. His voice is slightly wet sounding, “Christ.”

It takes some effort, but Tobias gets himself standing. He has to reach down and adjust himself through the inseam of his trousers as he walks back to the table, grabbing the untouched glass and draining about half of it in one go. Then he walks back to Sam, still sat on the floor, and hands it to him, watching as he promptly finishes off the rest.

Tobias isn’t quite sure of what to do with himself now. The feels like a live wire, erection straining and obvious, his face likely unflatteringly sweaty. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, surprised at how easily it glides against his skin. He pulls his hand back and remembers that at least half of the mess that he’s become involves Sam having come on him.

There’s no helping him, really. Not in a way that won’t have him making some sort of fool of himself. A lost cause.

“Can you stand?” he asks. At Sam’s nod and outstretching hand, Tobias helps to pull him up to his feet.

Sam’s knees must not be fully under him; their bodies connect in a gentle collision before either of them can stop it. “Alright?” Tobias asks.

“I dinnae suppose,” Sam says, and Tobias hasn’t a single idea if he’s playing up the accent, getting back into his Jamie headspace, or if this is just how he gets, when he’s loose-limbed with one under his belt, “that your bed might be more comfortable than your floor.”

“Laying down on the job?”

As if nothing at all out of the usual has transpired, Sam shrugs. “Seems to me that is the job,” he says. Sam grabs the waist of his pants, still caught at his thighs, and pulls them up, covering himself. “The cot is next on the call sheet, right?”

Tobias blinks. His dick’s too hard to spend the time he probably should analyzing what any of this could or should mean. “Alright, just let me clean up a bit.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Give us a moment.”

His other is still holding Sam’s, neither of them letting go after he’d help Sam up. Sam squeezes it and says, “Wouldn’t it be better just to soldier on?” he asks. “Carry the momentum.”

That feels like the last thing they should be doing, given how things had spiraled. “For me, that —” Tobias licks his lips, measuring his words, “Jack comes at it from all sides. It’s difficult, digging into that. Thinking that I’m doing that to you, not Jamie.”

He feels exposed, all of a sudden, even though Sam’s the one standing there with only his pants on. He’s gorgeous, and had they come at this from a straight angle Tobias would feel much more secure in where he stood, but they hadn’t, and here he is. He’s always been the partner who’s eager to please, up for anything if it gets them off. It’s hard to tell what Sam’s after, what it is he likes.

“Jamie’s thought about this,” Sam starts, “Less, now, that he’s married. But there was a time when he’d be doing something completely different and a fantasy would come to him. Not — _that_. But, men. Other men. It doesn’t consume him, not like I’m sure it does Jack, I think, but a part of Jamie needs it. Especially around Jack. He hates that it’s finally him, that makes it all possible for Jamie, in the worst of all ways, like _that_. But it could only have ever been Jack, and it could only have ever been like that, I think.”

It isn’t anything that Tobias doesn’t know. It’s part of the worst of it all, what things might have been like if Jack wasn’t an irredeemably evil bastard that relished this sort of thing, and Jamie wasn’t as keen on punishing himself for all the little things he couldn’t live with inside himself. Jack knows it too; it’s why he so relishes when he’s finally got Jamie broken and so far gone that he’s half in love with him.

“Right.” Tobias flashes a quick smile at Sam and then nods his head towards the back of the flat. “Bedroom’s through there.”

* * *

He strips down to his own underwear and helps Sam situate himself on the bed. His erection dulls, leaving him at half-mast. With Jamie sated, he tries to tell himself that things shouldn’t escalate as swiftly as they had in the kitchen. This will be actual work, now.

It feels like an empty platitude, but it’s all he has.

They’ve brought the scripts with them, and Tobias glances at his. “You think I cannot control the darkness I inhabit,” he says, testing out the line. He repeats it a few more times, getting himself back into the psychology of Jack. Sam’s bent in half at the edge of the bed, knees on the floor. He is nothing if not a vision.

Tobias gives the lines various weights, intonations, working some anger into it, before realizing that it doesn’t work. Jack is tired of playing games, in that moment, when both of them should be at their most base and without pretense. It was so easy for him to get there, and he’d assumed Jamie would be the same. Jamie insinuating that this is something Jack _must_ do reveals so much more about Jamie’s psychology towards the matter than it does show Jack what Jamie thought of him. Jack would truly have to break him, then, and rebuild Jamie in his image, in order for them to both get what they deserved.

“How good are your walls?” Sam asks.

Caught in his mulling, Tobias asks, “You what?”

“The noise,” he clarifies, “will it carry?”

“I’m sure they’re at work.” Tobias shrugs. “Not all of us get to faff about in the middle of a weekday.”

Sam turns to grin at him, equal shares cheeky and like he knows something Tobias doesn’t. It unlocks something about the scene for him. Tobias can imagine how Jamie must look to Jack, so sure that he couldn’t ever bring himself as low as Jack desires, seeking a pleasure that Jamie could in no way reciprocate. That in a way it isn’t even so much the act of taking that Jamie is most horrified by, but the desire Jack possess that has him wanting to take in the first place.

“You think,” Jack says, “I cannot control the darkness I inhabit?”

He drops to his knees behind Jamie, gripping his hips tight. Sam’s eyes go wide, but the shock gets him right back into Jamie, and he jerks his face forward, denying Jack the pleasure of watching his face.

That’s alright, Jack thinks. His body’s certainly told the truth thus far.

“Scream,” he says, thrusting his hips hard into Jamie’s ass. They’ve both got their pants on. Jamie doesn’t make a sound. “Scream,” he repeats, mashing himself against Jamie harder, building a rhythm of thrusts and grinds. His hand snaps out and grabs hold of Sam’s hair, Tobias glad for the length of it, how it lets him yank angry and vicious, stretching out the curve of his neck.

The bounce of the mattress pushes Jamie back into him with each thrust, but it’s firm enough against Jamie’s belly to force sounds out of him despite himself, pained little groans, as if Jack had really been fucking him. “Scream!” Jack raises into a squat, planting his hand on the back of Jamie’s head and forcing it onto the mattress, using the leverage to hammer their hips together ruthlessly, twisting Jamie’s hair around his knuckles.

Jamie does as Jack’s asked, finally, letting out an anguished cry. It’s a marvelous sound, Jamie’s pain. Gets his blood boiling. Something inside Tobias cracks a little at it, frantic. Jack steps onto the bed and drags Jamie with him by his hair. “Am I close?” he asks.

Jack lets go of Jamie once the man’s got his head on the pillows at the head of the mattress, breath coming out in quick gasps and tears collecting in the corners of his eyes at the rough handling. “Have you reached your limit yet.”

Tobias realizes that he’s fully erect again. He grabs Sam’s knee and pulls it away from its twin, looking between his legs. He’s is as well.

“What shall I do with you?”

Jamie looks back at him with dazed eyes, unsure of the right thing to say. Jack leans in close to his face, hovering above him. “Are you mine?” he asks, because it is the most important question of them all. He slides his hand down Jamie’s abdomen, curling it around Jamie’s cock through his pants, a rough hold just on the wrong side of too-tight.

Sam’s eyes go wild, seemingly brought back to himself. “You,” he says, and it’s too much for Tobias.

He drops his head down to Sam’s chest, bites at his nipple, the muscle of his pectoral, sucking a vicious mark into his skin. Sam presses up against his mouth, as if feeding Tobias more of his skin.

Jack pulls back and stares into Sam’s eyes. “There’s only me,” he says. “Tell me.”

Sam strains up to kiss him, and Jack allows it, pulling back when Sam tries to deepen it. Jack stares at him, willing to be patient to get himself this.

Finally, Sam licks his lips and says, “There’s only you.” The words sound foreign on his tongue, as if he hadn’t realized they were true until he’d said them, a phrase in a language he hadn’t known, translated only after he’d mastered it.

It shifts something in Jack. Because he knows it’s true. He feels arrived, in a way, more real that he’s ever been. Tobias feels the echoes of it, but it’s different for him, this sense of ownership. Sam is his — _theirs_? If such a thing is possible — and Tobias must do everything he can to please him, to show Sam that Tobias is just as much his.

“Look at me,” he begs.

Sam does, his eyes nothing but black. Looking present and yet hopelessly far away.

“These are his hands,” Jack says. “Are you thinking of him?” He pinches the nipple he only just had in his mouth. “Are you weak like Jamie, and this is the only way you’ll take them?” The question is asked without much heat, an idle observation, if even that. But. It’s a fear Tobias has, unfairly leached into Jack’s pathology.

Sam grasps for him, overwrought. He drags Tobias’ mouth back down and kisses him deeply, wildly. Tobias kisses him back, just as consumed with it. He crawls on top of Sam’s body, hovering on his hands and knees. Their kiss starts off as one neverending thing that gradually becomes shorter, until it’s dozens of them, quick presses that begin just as soon as the one previous has ended.

“Say my name,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t come across as begging.

Sam’s nails scratch lines into Tobias’ back, marking him just as Jack had Jamie. “Tobias,” he says, on an exhale, not unlike prayer.

He’s been so caught up in their kissing, how amazing it feels, that he hasn’t realized that at some point he’d come to lay down on top of Sam, their hips grinding together with the same rhythm as their mouths. He reaches down and pushes his underwear off his hips, helping Sam to do the same, and they kick them off their legs and down onto the floor.

Tobias gets his hand around Sam’s cock again, eyes trained to Sam’s face as his mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut. He works him before he realizes that he can’t stand by, not for a second time. “Wait for me,” Tobias says, and it’s just as much a command as it is a plea.

He reaches for the side of his bed and fishes a bottle out of his bedside drawer. It’s about all he has the wherewithal to handle at the moment. He focuses back on Sam and watches as he pleasures himself, stroking with a rapturous expression on his face. Tobias thumbs the tube open and upends it over their laps, drizzling some right onto Sam’s cock, his hand.

Sam hisses, likely from the cold, if not the unexpectedness of it.

Tobias gives his own dick the same treatment, careful not to spend too much time spreading it after just how much of this morning has been spent keeping himself on-edge. He reaches between Sam’s legs and doesn’t hesitate in sliding two fingers inside of him.

The way Sam’s body writhes against the mattress is a sight in itself. The long line of him, the way the whole of him echoing the expression on his face, wholly of the moment, sensation personified. Tobias can’t stand to wait a moment longer.

He gets Sam onto his side and settles behind him, grabbing hold of his knee and pushing it up to his chest. He runs the head of his dick over Sam’s rim a few times, and then pushes himself home.

Watching Sam react gives Tobias nearly as much pleasure as the sensation of being in him itself. He grinds their hips together, placing his hand overtop Sam’s where he’s still jacking himself, the both of them working his dick together.

They transform from a leisurely pace to something more rapturous, Tobias pinning Sam’s hip to the mattress and pummeling into him as fast as he can, the both of them gasping. The sounds pouring out of Sam are what push him over in the end, half-broken words practically breathed into Sam’s ear, the rasp of Sam’s beard tingling against his cheek where their faces press and rub, Tobias so deep inside of him, so close, that they’re essentially parenthetical.

Sam comes, tightening around him, and Tobias, fastened, follows him.

He hides against the skin of Sam’s neck. Tobias drags his hand up from between Sam’s legs, over his stomach, pressing his palm to the mark he knows he left on his chest.

“What does it say about you,” Jack asks, “That the only way you’ll let yourself have this is _like_ this?”

Sam stills in his arms, and then begins to shake. Laughing.

Laughing again, so soon after he’s come. Tobias wonders if it’s normal for him, or something special about the absurdity of what they’ve done. He hopes, again, desperately, that he’ll have a chance to find out what Sam’s _normal_ is.

Sam’s hands come up, covering his face. “Filming this is going to be hell,” he says.

* * *

They arrive on set together that Monday. It isn’t strange. Nobody but them has to know that Sam has been at his all weekend, save the quick stop they’d made that morning so that he could change his clothes. That they’d spent the time talking, and fucking as much in-character as they had out of it.

That Tobias and Sam have decided that Jack’s caught between never wanting Jamie to break, and having Jamie break being all he wants. How he wants Jamie to be his, but never docile, complacent. That he needs Jamie to need him as much as he needs Jamie, obsessed and consumed with it. That Jack is learned, and likely had this fantasy borne the minute his tutors had covered the Theban Band, or Greek society at all, really. Instantly, he would have been overcome with Classical society. His stock, put down on paper, immortalized. How that had twisted and darkened as Jack himself had become more twisted, darker.

The completion of one man only to be had with an equal at his side, but with the existence of a clear hierarchy therein. One the lesser, out of choice, and of how it could go either way, should the one in charge not watch himself. Jack would let Jamie do anything to him, just so long as he’d always have the chance of turning the tables and having a go at taking it back.

He looks over at Sam while the finishing touches of their makeup is being applied and says, “Jack would hate to know that Jamie lives.” He gestures between them, and then makes an apologetic face when he’s tutted at for having moved. “After what was supposed to be their joint demise, I think.”

It’s still far down the line, but Tobias feels like having that coloring his performance matters just as much in the scenes today as it will when they get to his eventual death. He had spared Jamie from death, after all, so that he could have this. This will be the best moment of Jack’s life, and Jack likely knows it.

Sam meets his gaze through the mirror and smiles a little. “Jamie can’t ever outlive him,” Sam says, “not really.”

Tobias thinks he rather understands the feeling.

* * *

He’s sat on the floor, Sam on a chair in front of him. They’re waiting for one last lighting check before Anna calls for quiet, nodding at them.

Jamie’s breathing hard, and Jack shushes him, cruel especially when he fakes at being kind, rolling up Jamie’s kilt to his thighs and pulling his legs apart steadily. Jamie can’t stop himself from working to keep them closed, and Jack tightens his hold, forceful.

Jack keeps checking his face, Jamie staring off defiantly at the walls of the cell, as if Jack isn’t there. He’ll see how long Jamie can keep that up.

He slides his hand up Jamie’s leg towards the cradle of his hips, savoring the anguish that Jamie can’t manage to keep back — Tobias finds Sam hard. He hadn’t meant to actually touch him, not here, but he also hadn’t been expecting to find Sam’s cock that far forward. For him to react this way at all, outside of the confines of Tobias’ home.

He really should have. It’s possible they rehearsed this all a bit too thoroughly.

“How does that feel?” Jack asks, hand grazing against Jamie’s erection. Tobias won’t let himself actually hold it.

Sam looks down at him from the corner of his eye, for just a moment, but it’s enough for Tobias.

Eager to face the fruits of his labor, Jack lowers his head, disappearing beneath the fall of Jamie’s kilt.


End file.
